


Fate?

by Dominatrix



Category: Sherlock Holmes (Downey films)
Genre: F/M, OTP forever, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-05
Updated: 2012-12-05
Packaged: 2017-11-20 09:30:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 837
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/583848
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dominatrix/pseuds/Dominatrix
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock spends a rather boring afternoon in Baker Street when he suddenly meets an unexpected guest...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fate?

Sherlock Holmes was bored and sitting in his armchair. While he stirred his tea with the one hand he skimmed through a book with the other. This afternoon was an invitation for wasting time. Watson was visiting Mary; she had influenza or something like this. Holmes had wanted to tell him that a simple influenza was no reason to order your husband to visit you, but he had not found a good reason. The last case was closed without demanded too much of Holmes’s intellect. Moreover, Holmes couldn’t risk that Moriarty’s henchmen saw him, although they had probably spread in every possible direction. So a trip in the chilly and wet London weather wasn’t possible. When a knock urged to his sharp ear he frowned. Usually he heard visitors and clients rumbling on the stairs long before they came in, but this person had between completely silent.

“Come in.” The door opened slightly screeching. He had asked Mrs. Hudson several days to get him some lubricant. But she was very careful with seemingly harmless things he needed, at the latest after the little fire that had just happened because of a Spanish newspaper and some wrongly adjusted burning glasses. Miss Hudson claimed that you could still smell the gas. Of course that was utter nonsense.

With a soft jerk the person opened the slightly stuck door a bit wider and lifted the head so Holmes could see her better now. It was a woman he had - several times - described as the most beautiful woman of all, with the face of an angel and the assertiveness of an armada of war ships. She had done up her brown hair to a very elegant hairstyle which led the view of every man to her slim neck. Her feminine shape was covered by a Bordeaux coloured dress, above that she wore a heavy coat made of black velvet. Holmes couldn’t deny that he was surprised by the sight in front of him. But she stood there, alive, right in front of him, and he had not consumed enough hallucinogens that would allow his mind to trick him.

Irene Adler stood there and looked at him with a vivid sparkle in her eyes; it made the assumption that she may have become a victim of Moriarty’s sleazes, completely unreliable. For a long time Holmes couldn’t say a word while he put down the newspaper and rose from his armchair slowly. He had spent several years believing that his biggest rival was dead. And this assumption had proven as fundamentally false.

“You have faked your own death?” he managed to get out with high concentration, although he was perfectly aware about the answer’s obviousness.

“Well, as far as I can see and read in the newspaper back then…This method is not unfamiliar to you.”

 

“How did you know that I’m still alive?”

“Mister Holmes, you consider me to be more stupid than I actually am. No one that really knows you could ever believe that you just drop down a waterfall.”

“Mr. Watson believed this for years.”

“Mr. Watson is, if you’ll excuse my words, not nearly analytically and deductively gifted like others are.”

“Like you are.”

“Well, I did not want it to sound this way. What I mean is: I just knew it. Even without deductions.“

„Why?“

„I would have felt it if you would have really died.“ She sighed and her view digressed for a short time before she looked at him again.

 

“Holmes, do you, even you, one of the most brilliant minds of our century, think that it is possible that our encounters are nothing more than coincidence?”

“I don’t believe in coincidence, Miss Adler. Supposed coincidences are nothing more than un-calculated probabilities. Through an emotional bond to the other person one believes in connections that the vernacular also calls fate and keeps on changing it from the actual reality until it matches the picture. So no, our meetings are of no supernatural kind.”

“Holmes” Irene said again, but her voice was softer now, had grown sweeter. She glanced at him tenderly, the hint of a smile in the corners of her mouth. She stood in front of him, and her view met his so sharp and attentive how just an Irene Adler could do it. “Aren’t you glad that I’m alive?”

 

“Well, you were doubtlessly always my biggest and most dangerous rival, and, as much as I hate to admit it, you were superior to me in some situations. So the conclusion would be logical that I’m unhappy about your unexpected sign of life. However, I feel something I can’t explain, as if a load had been taken off my shoulders. It’s strange; I’m feeling curiously light and untroubled.”

“Sherlock” Irene began loving and laid a hand on his unshaved cheek.

“Why can’t you just say you love me?”

"I think this would be an appropriate alternative for my paraphrase.”

“I missed you, you silly fogey” she laughed and involved him in a stormy kiss.


End file.
